i thought of you today. in my own perverse way i was persuaded for a while that i still missed the old days and i regretted my old age. in all the ways that reminded me of you i never stopped being hungry, i depended on depression, i savoured the sharp pang in my heels and i knew i was alive. i thought of how i felt. that killed me. i wanted to think that my art wasn't craft and how i tried the dull knife to cut myself to scale, misaligned, stitched us together, but i just went in circles like a spool.
and marathons of stitches still run up my side when i struggle to keep up with the snails.